the guy who owns the local team,
he doesn’t share this city’s dream,
if they don’t win, well, he don’t mind,
his eye is on the bottom line..

the docent talking history
refers to “Andy Carnegie”
his family never liked the man,
so they disrespect him, when they can

take a bridge across the parkway,
watch the cars pass underneath,
everything is moving in the Land of Make Believe,
drive a bridge above a river,

over water flowing West,
past ghosts and holes and
everything that’s left..

turn by Hill’s department store,
the one that’s not there anymore,
directions that the locals share,

a time machine might get you there..

I’m still here, so are you,
I thought we swore that we would move?

but rent’s cheap, and I like the view,
I guess gravity was stronger...

Doc Ellis pitched a no-no high,
said he was higher than a Georgia pine,
the acid made the game seem strange,
but he held’em hitless anyway..

dear owner of the hometown side,
your treasure’s where your heart resides*, (Matthew 6:21)
but all that money’s just a dream,

it’s less real than your baseball team

take a bridge across the parkway,
watch the cars pass underneath,
through the tunnels like a trolley to the Land of Make Believe,
drive a bridge above a river,
over any one of three,
in the heart of post-industrial regret..
never far from water flowing West..

past ghosts, and holes, and
everything that’s left...